


Instill me with your love

by herosterek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Comeplay, Future Fic, Knotting, Love Confessions, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Pretty much just porn, Rimming, Scent Marking, Versatile Derek Hale, Versatile Stiles Stilinski, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2459039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herosterek/pseuds/herosterek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wakes on Saturday feeling kisses being peppered down his chest, a hand reaches to out one of his, trying to entwine their fingers together. They cup his throbbing erection through the sheets that have slipped down to his waist. Stiles ruts his hips up to try and gain friction. He opens his eyes. A blurry Derek comes into his vision, ink dark hair looking like someone has already run their fingers through it the night before. Stiles curls away from Derek's touch, pushing his lover's hands away. Derek looks confused.</p><p>"Stiles, what's wrong?"</p><p>Derek is dressed in tight fitting jeans, the ones he knows makes his ass look amazing. The bulge of Derek's cock is evident even through the thick of the material. Call Stiles immature but he doesn't reply. He turns to nuzzle into the pillow next to him. It smells like Derek, like home. Like rain soaked grass and cinnamon spice. It makes something inside ache.</p><p>"Stiles?"</p><p>Derek shifts so he's laying by Stiles' side. A hand settles on Stiles' hip, but he jerks himself away. He’s really had enough if Derek thinks that he can spend the night with someone else and return in the morning to woo Stiles with a good fuck. </p><p>"Baby?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instill me with your love

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! I just needed some more angsty porn in my life so that's what inspired this. Hope you like it :D

Stiles wakes up to the eerie creak of the front door opening. There's a cooling patch of sheets on the side of the bed opposite to his own. He reaches out to grasp at the bundle of bed covers that pool around the empty indent in the mattress where Derek  _should_  be. 

 

The room is lit dimly by the slither of moonlight that shines through the curtains. Once Stiles' vision adjusts, he can make out the familiar shadow of the bookcase that stands by the ensuite. The bookcase that has scratch indents on the 3rd shelf when Derek's claws had pierced into the mahogany wood, too busy fucking up into Stiles and chasing the hot tingling pleasure of his orgasm to care.

 

Stiles sits up, the comfort of linen in his hands not enough to keep away his anxiety, not enough to keep away the thoughts of Derek possibly  _leaving_  him. 

 

“D’rek,” Stiles mumbles, his voice echoes in the quiet of the apartment. 

 

Stiles knows that Derek is able to hear him even through the closed bedroom door. The clunk of the front lock sliding in place booms. Fear plagues Stiles’ mind, breath catching in his throat, only until he hears the reassuring sound of footsteps creaking on the 4th floorboard of the hallway that neither of them ever get around to replacing. The luminescent glow of the hallway filters through the growing crack of the opening bedroom door as Derek slips in. 

 

Derek shuts the door. The sounds of a leather jacket and jeans being removed fills their silence, both of which were not worn when they had gone to sleep that evening. Derek returns to the bed and nestles up to Stiles' side, stroking thick fingers through Stiles' dishevelled bed hair while exhaling a seemingly content sigh.

 

The repeated caress soothes the worry in Stiles, so he lays down when Derek drapes the comforter back over them.  An itch of curiosity still bugs him but he knows better than to ask, knows it’s better to trust Derek. Stiles shifts so he can tangle their legs together. He plasters himself on top of Derek’s chest, seeking out the radiating warmth of the werewolf. 

 

"Go back to sleep Stiles," Derek lulls into his hair, voice firm, bringing his arm up to wrap around Stiles' shoulders. 

 

Stiles falls asleep within 5 minutes.

 

*

 

Stiles notices the change in Derek's demeanour. It’s only recently that Derek’s begun to neglect him. Derek had once looked at him with eyes that thought Stiles had hung the moon himself. Stiles knows this because he himself looks at Derek that way every day. Now, there’s hesitance whenever Derek leans in to  _kiss_ him. Like it’s an obligation needing to be fulfilled.

Gentle touches that once were an often occurrence at the beginning of their relationship have disappeared. Vague brushes against the nape of Stiles’ neck, hands trailing up the length of forearm, stubble rubbing the spot behind his ears. Six years they've been together, all the supernatural bullshit during high school not inclusive. Sure, back then their ' _relationship_ ' – more on the acquaintance side of things – was rocky at best, but they'd grown to love each other.

 

Six years is obviously enough time to get over those feelings for Derek, but Stiles  _knows_  he will never stop loving Derek. He will never stop loving the way Derek will shield him from the slightest bit of danger. The sleepy smiles Derek  _gleams_  after a morning of sex, the burgundy sweater with thumb holes that make Derek look  _oh_  so cute with his  _stupid_  flat hair and  _stupid_  calloused hands that deliver him  _stupid_  coffee straight afterwards. Because when Stiles loves, he does it with all his being. The next time Derek leaves their apartment is a week later.

 

*

 

The low rumble of the Camaro’s engine starts up, waking Stiles with a jolt. The sound of tyre crunching gravel is accompanied by the metal clanking of the apartment block's garage door opening. The sounds reverberate loud in his ears. It's almost _deafening_ to him. Stiles can hear Derek take off down the street, leaving him in silence. If Derek notices that there's a lingering smell of bitter confusion in the bedroom, then he doesn't mention it.  

  


It happens once a week for month.

 

*

 

Autumn leaves are collecting in clumps of brown-orange out the front of their apartment block. Stiles is returning from work wearing one of Derek's Letterman jackets, a scarf his mother had given him before she'd passed, and a pair of blue mittens Lydia had knitted for him. His cheeks are pink from the chill that gusty winds bring; they start to pick up often now that it's the middle of the season.

 

Stiles walks up the concrete steps to buzz himself into the block, then collects the pile of letters overstuffed in their designated mailbox. He shoves them into his messenger bag used for work so that he can drag his fingers over the misaligned letters that personalize their green mailbox. Derek had miscalculated the amount of space it would take to fill in their lettering, so the last three letters of _'Derek & Stiles'_ slope down towards the bottom right corner. Stiles clenches his fists into tight balls, shutting his eyes to stop himself from welling up the tears that might threaten to fall. Stiles isn’t some stereotypical damsel, but _goddammit_ , six _years_.

 

He makes his way to level three, room thirty-two. Slotting the key into the lock twisting the doorknob to enter the apartment results in the door moaning at its hinges. The aroma of food wafts through the house and Stiles can hear Derek on the phone. When he approaches the kitchen area, he sees Derek resting his elbows on the counter, shoulder cradling his phone, with his head in his hands. Derek’s wide smile falls when he sees Stiles emerge from the hallway.  


"I’ve got to go, bye," Derek finishes before hanging up the call.

 

Stiles steels himself and walks up to the counter, dumping the pile of letters next the fruit basket that contains a single banana. He goes to settle behind Derek, sliding his arms around the other man's body, needing his comfort, needing to know he can still have this for as long as he is able to. Derek tenses slightly under his arms but relaxes probably after how pathetically fast Stiles' heartbeat is pounding against his ribcage. At least he still has Friday evenings, the day where they always spend together. 

 

"How was your day?" Stiles mumbles into the back of Derek's head, snuggling into his body. Stiles nuzzles his face on the skin of Derek’s shoulder where his tank top doesn’t cover.

 

"Good, you?" Derek replies.

 

"Scott caught the robber that has been stealing Mrs. Mahealani’s shoes. Turns out their dog was just burying them in the yard."

 

"Great."

 

"What's for dinner?"

 

"Just some pasta, Wine or beer is in the fridge."

 

Stiles hums in acknowledgement, not knowing what else to say. Derek has always been a man of few words. Stiles tucks his chin over Derek's shoulder so that their heads are side by side. Derek places a hand atop his own where they're still cradled around his upper body. Stiles can see Derek’s jaw working, familiar enough with him now to know that he's working himself up to say something. Stiles waits.

 

"I've been- do you think-," Derek groans in frustration, his thumb sweeps around the back of Stile’s hand.

 

"Would you mind if I went out tonight?" Derek finishes.

 

Stiles' stomach drops, but he forces out the hurt feeling that looms overhead and gives Derek a nod, his head shifting up and down against Derek's.

 

"What time are you going?"

 

"7:30."

 

Stiles looks over at the clock on the microwave, it's just past half six. Stiles hums, but when it comes out it sounds more like a whine to his ears. "What're you doing?"

 

Derek stiffens. Stiles releases his hold on Derek and settles into the stool behind the counter. 

 

"It's nothing really, I just need to see someone," Derek replies.

 

A pang of jealousy bubbles up through Stiles. Even without enhanced senses, he can tell whatever Derek's doing isn't just _nothing_.

 

Before he gets a chance to reply, the stove timer lets them know dinner is finished. Derek leans in to brush Stiles' face with the back of his knuckles, kisses him softly. Stiles doesn't feel worthy enough to reciprocate.

 

They eat dinner in relative quiet, the atmosphere slightly tense. 

 

Derek leaves ten minutes early, rushing out the door, dressed up dapper in a tight white business shirt and slacks, pecking Stiles on the lips just before exiting their home and promising to be back by morning.

 

Stiles cleans up the kitchen and gets ready for a night of restlessness. He's in so deep that it's really not fair. 

 

*

 

It's Saturday night.

 

Derek slicks up his first finger, encircling Stiles wet opening, _teasing_ him, tugging shallowly on his rim. Stiles moans, his back arching off the bed when Derek sweeps his tongue over Stiles’ hole and up along his balls, along the length of his shaft, finally enveloping Stiles' cock with the wet of his mouth.

 

Stiles whines when he looks down at Derek hollowing his cheeks in order to take in his full length. He can feel the practiced swirl of Derek's tongue around his already sensitive head as Derek goes down. His hands travel to Derek's hair, tugging lightly, eliciting a wicked rumble in Derek's throat that Stiles can feel travel through the shaft of his cock.

 

"Derek, Derek please I-I need you inside of me."

 

Derek pops off of him, a string of saliva trailing from Derek's swollen lips to the wet slit of his head. Derek doesn't respond, bringing a finger to Stiles' lips, his other hand continuing to flicker around Stiles' wanting hole. Stiles takes the finger into his mouth, tongue licking around the digit. A groan escapes Derek, coming deep from his chest. Derek _finally_ starts to press into Stiles' slick hole.

 

It feels so good to have Derek work it in and out of him that he can't stop writhing around. Skilled fingers are indeed searching for the spot that will spout white sparks of pleasure throughout Stiles' body. When Derek removes his finger from Stiles' mouth, Stiles goes to chew on his bottom lip, the pleasure intensifying as Derek picks up the pace of his finger. He adds a second finger, brushes against Stiles' prostate, making him arch off his hips, keening into Derek's fingers, needing more of Derek inside of him.

 

" _Stiles_ , fuck," Derek moans, bringing his mouth down to Stiles' ear, nipping on the lobe before pressing kisses to his jaw, behind his ear, licking down his neck.

 

"Derek, I  _need_  more, I can take more."

 

"I've got you," Derek soothes, pressing a third finger inside after lubing it up, running his other hand up and down Stiles' abdomen, dragging his fingers through the sticky mess of leaking precome dribbling from the head of Stiles' cock. Derek plants kisses along Stiles' body, bites down hard on the right nipple, then the left, sending out waves of pleasure.

 

"Derek, more,  _please_ ," Stiles whines, even as Derek's thick fingers thrust in and out of him continually, "you feel so good, Der, I need you  _now_."

 

Derek angles his fingers just so while withdrawing, that Stiles can feel his orgasm waiting to burst. He drops his head back to the sheets. He can feel Derek line up the head of his cock with his sensitive entrance, making Stiles pant, hands going down to clutch at the sheets as Derek's thick length sinks down slowly inside of him.

 

"Stiles, you're so tight,  _fuck_ , you feel so good," Derek growls.

 

Stiles whimpers at the praise, head lolling to the side, a blush heating up his face. When Derek bottoms out, his hips flush against Stiles' ass, Stiles swears he has never felt fuller. His knees get thrown over Derek's shoulders as he tries to adjust to the pleasure of having Derek so deep inside of him.

 

"Derek I need you to fuck me  _now_ ," Stiles pants.

 

Derek grunts in reply, pulling out slightly before thrusting in again. Again and again and again. Derek's movements become more concentrated, harder, faster, and it feels too good, feels unbearable almost. He can feel Derek thrusting up towards his stomach and oh-

 

"Oh  _fuck_  Derek right  _there_ , again right there, please, you feel amazi- hnng." 

 

Every push Derek gives him drags along the sweet bundle of pleasure inside of him, making him keen and pant and incoherent, unable to form proper words. Derek leans in for a bruising kiss, parting Stiles' lips right away, his tongue gaining entrance to Stiles' mouth. Derek suckles on his bottom lip, whimpers and whines that escape from Stiles are drowned by the constant pressure of Derek's mouth on his.

 

It's all becoming too much and Stiles has yet to touch his cock that has been leaking sticky fluid across his belly. He breaks from the kiss to bite down on Derek's shoulder.

 

"Der, 'M close, I'm so close," Stiles muffles into the muscle of his shoulder.

 

"I know baby, just a little longer," Derek pants, his elbows coming down on either side of Stiles' head to lean forward so that their foreheads press together.

 

Derek sends a few more erratic thrusts and bites down on the cord of Stiles neck before Stiles comes with a cry, spilling his load between them. Derek lets out an insanely deep growl, certainly satisfied that Stiles' come is sticky between them, the scent soaking into their bellies.

 

Stiles is overly sensitive coming down from his high, but he knows Derek must be close for the fact that his knot is starting to swell. Every time that Derek fills him up, the head of Derek’s cock glides over his prostate. Stiles scrapes his fingers through the mess on his stomach and smears the come onto Derek's abdomen. His eyes lock with the other man, a thin ring of hazel green grey outlines Derek's full blown pupils. Stiles dives in for another kiss, panting against Derek's mouth.

 

"Derek, D'rek, I- _fuck_ , too much please." 

 

"Just a little more baby," Derek moans. Derek's knot is becoming larger, and Stiles can  _feel_  it stretching his tight rim, jerking on his hole each time it passes in and out of him.

 

"Derek, I'm so sensitive, you're so- you're so big," Stiles whines, scratching his blunt nails over the defined muscle of Derek's chest.

 

Derek's knot finally ties them together, swollen tight and so large, pressing hard against his prostate, making Stiles come again with a sob, adding to the mess from earlier that had started to dry into their skin. Stiles feels drained from the intensity of the fuck. Derek's cock is still pulsing inside of him, filling Stiles with Derek's come, with Derek's scent. He's Derek's and he'll have this for as long as he can, Stiles thinks, as he drifts asleep, Derek shifting them so they're in a comfortable position.

 

*

 

"Scotty!" Stiles yells as he throws an arm around his best friend, "I haven't seen in _years_ buddy."

 

Scott rolls his eyes.

 

"I saw you literally two days ago Stiles."

 

"Two days, too long is what I always say," Stiles replies, using the hand that isn't around Scott's shoulder to imitate an imaginary rainbow, then using it to push through the doors of the county station.

 

He steers Scott past the technology desk where Kira – there’s no time for lovey dovey distractions – is working on setting up the software for the various cameras being installed around the sheriff's department. She waves to them with a quirk on her lips as they pass.

 

"Stiles, you literally never have said that before."

 

"You're right, I  _literally_  haven't," Stiles mocks.

 

"Six years out of high school and you'd think someone would stop being an ass by then."

 

Stiles would be offended but the smirk on Scott's face just makes him grin.

 

"I can't help it, it's in my nature," Stiles scoffs. 

 

They saunter past the busy bullpen, turning into hallway that leads down to the sheriff's office. 

 

"Yeah and that's why you and Derek are perfect for each other," Scott mumbles under his breath, but Stiles hears him loud and clear.

 

He stops Scott by tugging back on his arm even though in reality it wouldn't do anything, what with Scott's _'werewolfitude'_. 

 

"What'd you just say?"

 

"I just said that that's why Derek's perfect for you. You know? 'Cause you're both assholes," Scott beams out. They're standing in front of the sheriff's door now.

 

"Heh yeah, right, perfect."

 

Scott furrows his eyebrows, turning to face Stiles.

"What's up? You smell sad."

 

"Dude, turn it off!" 

 

Scott rolls his eyes.

 

"You know what I mean Scott, there are boundaries."

 

"Stiles, me and you-"

 

"You and I."

 

"-don't have boundaries anymore," Scott huffs while giving him a _'glare'_. It's really pathetic compared the Hale one. "In fact, I thought we had that established after that time where we-"

 

Stiles shoves his hands over Scott's mouth. 

 

"We said we would never _ever_ discuss these things!" He accuses, pointing a stern finger at Scott's face.

 

Scott's eyebrows inch to his hairline. He raps on the door twice, stepping back from where Stiles is cupping his mouth.

 

"Okay Stiles, I won't say anything," Scott mimes zipping his lips.

 

The good thing about Scott is that he won't push, so Stiles waltzes into his dad's office, who's on the phone when they walk in. 

 

"Alright son, I'll talk to you later then," his dad finishes.

 

The only other person his dad calls son, is Derek. 

 

"Hey dad, what did Derek want?" Stiles asks as he goes up to sit down on top of a collection of paperwork spread on the desk that the sheriff is seated at. His dad swats at his side, reshuffling the files when Stiles scrambles off of them.

 

"He wanted to make sure I understood something.”

 

Stiles wants to interrogate him further, but his dad beats him to it with another question of his own.

 

“Why do I get the feeling that you're about to ask a favour?" his dad inquires.

 

He grins down sheepishly, picking out the beef burger container that's poking out of his messenger bag. Stiles looks at Scott who is still in the doorway. Scott gestures that Stiles should be the one to tell the sheriff. Stiles scratches the back of his neck.

 

"Well, we were wondering," he starts, placing the container in front of his dad, "if Scott and I could take the weekend off?"

 

The sheriff exhales a breath.

 

"Thank god you've gotten past the stage of doing illegal things."

 

And _that_ offends Stiles.

 

"Excuse me, we're officials of the law now, I wouldn't dream of doing such things. Scott on the other hand-"

 

"Dude!"

 

"Ahem," his dad interrupts, "what're you doing then?"

 

"Oh, just you know, stuff," Stiles drags off slowly, fingers dancing on the desk top. 

 

" _Stuff_ ," The sheriff states back.

 

"Yep, _stuff_."

 

He doesn't really know why it had to be this weekend, but Scott said he had something planned for them so he looks to his best friend for help. 

 

Scott rolls his eyes, he's been spending too much time with Derek. Scott still doesn't say anything. 

 

"Okay,” his Dad answers.

 

"What huh really?" Stiles asks as he flails off his desk. 

 

"You two haven't had a day off since that leprechaun came to town and started biting everyone, you deserve it, but whatever it is, I’d better not be called about it."

 

"Thanks dad!" Stiles stands up to hurry out of the office. “Okay then see you later!"

 

Scott gives him a puzzled look when Stiles starts shoving him out the doorway hastily. 

 

He closes the door before they hear the yell of his dad exclaiming that it's a crime to switch out the turkey tofu burger container with a beef one.

 

Scott’s planned Sunday _‘events’_ are only three days away, and hopefully, they'll take his mind off of Derek.

 

*

 

Lydia rings him the next night. 

 

" _I'm a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world. Life in plastic, it's fantastic._ "

 

Stiles sniggers at the ringtone. Swaying his hips while humming into the phone as he picks it up.

 

"Stiles Stilinski speaking, how may I help you this lovely evening Lydia?"

 

"Stiles, you'd better not still have that ringtone for me, I can hear you humming to it."

 

Stiles stops mid-hum.

 

"Uhhh no, I changed it."

 

"Right, anyway, I need your help."

 

"Lydia, are you feeling okay? You need  _my_  help?" 

 

She gives him a sigh that sounds like she's contemplating why they're even still friends even after however many years of tight friendship.

 

"Blue or red?"

 

"Is that even a question?"

 

"Stiles, my patience is wearing thin, either you answer, or I'll bring  _Jackson_ over and we can discuss this."

 

Don't get him wrong, Jackson and he had become 'friends' after Jackson had moved back from London but that doesn't mean he'd volunteer to have the jerk around his home. Heh – jerk around the home has already _been_ done.

 

"What colour's my jeep?"

 

Stiles can tell Lydia's repressing another sigh.

 

"Okay, hyacinths or hydrangeas?"

 

"Hydrangeas. Lydia what's this about?" 

 

She ignores him. "Okay last one. Field or beach?"

 

He has to think about this one.

 

"Depends, what's happening at a field or beach?"

 

"Answer the question Stiles."

 

"Field. But really, I don't understand why you're ask-"

 

"Does it really matter now when you can personally say that you've helped Lydia Martin, Fields medal awardee?"

 

"Yes! I have an insatiable curiosity!"

 

Another sigh. "Don't worry sweetie, it'll make sense soon, ta-ta."

 

"Wait, Lydia, tell Jackson he smells!"

 

The phone is already disconnected. 

 

*

 

It's Friday. Stiles unlocks the apartment door and steps inside. Derek's not home, he concludes, if dead silence is anything to go by. 

 

He checks the fridge door where they keep notes down for each other.

 

 _'Gone out. Be back soon.'_ is scrawled out with a black marker. At least Derek still had the decency to leave one, but Stiles’ heart still sinks.

 

It's the second Friday in a month. Before now, Derek's never failed to be home. Stiles goes to bed without eating.

 

*

 

Stiles wakes on Saturday feeling kisses being peppered down his chest, a hand reaches to out one of his, trying to entwine their fingers together. They cup his throbbing erection through the sheets that have slipped down to his waist. Stiles ruts his hips up to try and gain friction. He opens his eyes. A blurry Derek comes into his vision, ink dark hair looking like someone has already run their fingers through it the night before. Stiles curls away from Derek's touch, pushing his lover's hands away. Derek looks confused.

 

"Stiles, what's wrong?"

 

Derek is dressed in tight fitting jeans, the ones he knows makes his ass look amazing. The bulge of Derek's cock is evident even through the thick of the material. Call Stiles immature but he doesn't reply. He turns to nuzzle into the pillow next to him. It smells like Derek, like home. Like rain soaked grass and cinnamon spice. It makes something inside ache.

 

"Stiles?"

 

Derek shifts so he's laying by Stiles' side. A hand settles on Stiles' hip, but he jerks himself away. He’s really had enough if Derek thinks that he can spend the night with someone else and return in the morning to woo Stiles with a good fuck.

 

" _Baby?_ "

 

Derek tries to pry the pillow away from where his face is buried, but Stiles holds it close. Knuckles caress the shell of Stiles' ear. A hand runs through the thick of his happy trail. Then they're removed. Derek's weight shifts off the mattress. Stiles perks his head up just in time to see Derek exit the bedroom. He can't let him go though, stubborn as he is, Derek's the one who has no right to be upset. He focuses just enough to hear Derek's voice, who’s on the phone with _someone_.

 

"He doesn't know what we're doing does he?" Derek muffles. Bile rises in his throat, but he forces it back down. Of course he was right. Derek _is_ fucking another person.

 

Stiles gets out of bed, putting on some pants so he can storm out of the room, a few tears start to clump his eyelashes together, making his vision watery. He opens the bedroom door to see Derek pacing outside of it, but he ignores the man in favour of walking out the apartment.

 

He can hear Derek still talking on the phone when he opens the door, taking the set of keys off the hook that hangs above the entryway. Stiles walks out and slams the door shut. What's weird is that he hears the clatter of Derek's phone being dropped like he actually cares more about Stiles than the person he's probably being cheated on with. 

 

Stiles is already at the elevator door waiting for the stupid thing to come, when he hears the door of their apartment burst open. He doesn't turn back to look. 

 

There's no movement in the hallway. 

 

The elevator dings when it arrives and the doors open.

"Stiles?"

 

Derek sounds absolutely _vulnerable_.

 

"Baby, where are you going?" Derek's voice cracks. 

 

Stiles lips quiver, because Derek shouldn't _deserve_ a dignified response. 

 

"Stiles, stay? Please? I need- I need you, where are you going?"

 

Stiles steels himself, counts to three. The elevator doors shut in front of him, presumably traveling to a different floor.  

 

He turns around.

 

Derek looks more distressed than Stiles has ever seen. His eyes shift and dart over and around Stiles, but they never once make contact with Stiles' own. 

 

"I know, Derek. I know already."

 

Stiles tucks his clenched fists under his armpits, the cold of the weather making goose bumps invade his bare torso.

 

"Know- know what baby?"

 

" _Don't_ call me that."

 

He sees Derek open his mouth to speak again, but then Derek closes it.

 

"Stiles," Derek finally brings his eyes up to meet his own, but Stiles shifts his focus to Derek's bare feet, the man’s toes are peeking out under the cuff of his jeans. 

 

"Derek," Stiles grits out, "people are supposed to tell each other that they don't love you anymore. So just. Just _tell_ me."

 

The things is, when Stiles looks up at Derek's face, it looks like the heart that Stiles has tried to repair and mend over the years is being crushed. It doesn't help at all. 

 

"Bab- Stiles what do you mean?"

 

Stiles walks forward, white knuckled, devastated, but in control.  He approaches Derek, stopping in front of him to look him directly in the eyes. They’ve watered up but Stiles wouldn't have been able to tell that Derek was _‘hurt’_ given his defensive cross-armed posture. 

"You don't love me anymore Derek," Stiles mumbles. 

 

Derek squeezes his eyes shut. When they open, they don't look at Stiles. Derek's hands drop to fumble with each other. 

 

"Just tell me Derek."

 

"Stiles-"

 

"Derek.”

 

"-Stiles, I- I have _never_ met anyone in my entire life that I have wanted to spend the rest of it with. I love you so much, and I- I don't know what I've done but I need you here, with me."

 

Stiles shoves Derek back into the apartment, locks the door behind him, throwing out a sarcastic laugh. 

 

"You don't mean that," Stiles says as he leans back against the hallway wall, sinking to the floor so he can sit down in case his knees give out. 

 

Derek settles opposite him, bracketing his body with his knees when he’s fully seated. Derek cups his face into his own hands, but Stiles can't work up the courage to look at him again.

 

"Stiles, open your eyes, please."

 

Stiles shakes his head.

 

"Please?"

 

He shakes his head again.

 

He feels the stroke of Derek's thumb across his right cheek. He feels the press of lips to his nose, to his forehead, to both cheeks.

 

Stiles opens his eyes.

 

“Why did you _insist_ on mocking me?”

 

Derek scoffs.

 

“Isn’t obvious? I love you. It’s in the job description. What’s wrong? Can you tell me?”

 

“You’ve been taking these calls Derek. You’ve skipped out on our Fridays. You don’t touch me randomly anymore like you used to always do Derek.”

 

“Stiles, look at me.”

 

Stiles does. There’s a long pause. Derek’s gaze is steady on his.

 

“You are my one and only, I have never, or will ever think about cheating on you. You are beautiful. You’re beautiful when you talk. You’re beautiful when you laugh. You’re beautiful when we fuck so hard that you make those crazy sounds. Those calls, they were to Lydia, those Fridays, they were visiting Scott, who also says that you absolutely reek of me.”

 

Stiles breathes out a shaky laugh.

 

“I will love you for as long as I live.”

 

Stiles nods, looking deep into Derek’s eyes.

 

“Can I- could I kiss you Stiles? Baby?” Derek asks, the corner of his mouth tugging up slightly.

Stiles answers him with a kiss.

 

*

 

The next day – Sunday – Stiles is in a field scattered with rose petals just west of Beacon Hills.

It has to be a proposal. In fact it sort of makes sense in a deranged kind of way when he has this explanation for Derek’s behaviour change. There are hydrangeas placed selectively, a mix and match of colours that have vibrant petals in full bloom. There’s a blue archway filled with them that make a path leading up to where Derek is kneeling down on one knee, hands prying open a box, inside a gold band that shines in the sunlight. His dad and a few of the deputies, Kira, Lydia, Melissa, Jackson, and many others are holding out signs that spell, ‘ _Will you marry me Stiles Stilinski?’._

He looks to Scott who’s standing by his side, grinning sheepishly as he rubs the back of his head. He narrows his eyes at his best friend.

 

“You were totally in on this.”

 

Scott shoves him forward.

 

“Go get him Stiles.”

 

Stiles does.

 

*

 

“I can’t believe you did that to me Stiles,” Derek complains as they enter the apartment later on that evening, but by the way Derek is grinning, Stiles thinks that his _fiancé_ really doesn’t mind at all.

 

“Derek! I had to. You can’t expect me not to start a food fight when _you’re_ the one who dabbed cake on my nose.”

 

“Yeah? Well the next time I smear something all over your face, you’ll enjoy it I can tell you that,” Derek says suggestively, crowding Stiles up against the wall. Yep, and that’s Derek’s hard-on grinding against the curve of his hip, _ohmygod_.

 

“Oh my _god_ , Derek, bedroom. Now.”

 

Derek obliges, hoisting Stiles up around his waist so Stiles can hook his legs around Derek’s torso. They shed their clothing along the way, never parting lips for more than a few seconds except for when Stiles gets Derek’s head stuck in neck hole. _Stupid shirt._ Derek dumps Stiles on the bed, smirking predatorily, settling in between Stiles’ legs.

 

Derek licks up the shaft of Stiles cock, tongue flicking at his slit and swallowing the precome that Stiles is already producing. Derek pumps his cock a few times before licking down at his balls, sucking on one and then taking both into his mouth. The pleasure of Derek treating him like he’s the only thing in the world that matters makes it all the better.

 

Derek returns back up the bed to lock lips with Stiles’, tongue darting out to brush his upper lip. Stiles lets out a moan, Derek’s stubble scrapes against the corners of his mouth, rubbing his skin raw.

 

“Derek, can I fuck you tonight?” Stiles pants between kisses.

 

It definitely isn’t the first time they’ve done it, _by far_ , but tonight Stiles needs to feel the slick warmth of Derek around his cock.

 

“Yea- Yeah, let’s do that,” Derek agrees.

 

They change positions so Derek is on his hands and knees in front of Stiles.

 

Stiles spreads apart Derek’s cheeks, a thin layer of dark hair dusts Derek’s firm round ass. Stiles goes in first with his tongue, wanting to taste Derek, get the man wet with his saliva for later on. He flicks out his tongue across Derek’s hole, making Derek shiver with contentment.

 

“Stiles, hurry the fuck up.”

 

“I’m going, I’m going, _geezus_. Agree to be a guy’s husband and he turns all bossy.”

 

“Stiles, if you don’t tongue fuck me right now, I’ll jerk off by myself.”

 

“Okay, okay, no need to make such _rash_ decisions now.”

 

Derek just huffs.

 

Stiles works his way past Derek’s rim, licking around Derek’s ass, biting and rubbing his cheeks, probing in and out until its loose enough so that Stiles can push a finger into him. He gets one in, and the way Derek clenches around it is so fucking hot that Stiles can feel the precome dribbling out of his slit. He slides his finger in and out before getting the lube on the bedside table and slicking two up. With the addition of the second, Derek grunts a greedy moan.

 

“Fuck me, Stiles.”

 

“I plan to,” he says.

 

He can see Derek go to reply but Stiles curves his fingers so that they press against Derek’s prostate, making the man exhale breathily instead.

 

“I’ve told you this a thousand times before but god, when you growl, _so fucking hot_.”

 

Derek, being the sex god that he is, growls in response.

 

Stiles is now working three fingers in and out of Derek, the addition of his tongues sometimes as well. He thinks that he won’t last long when he’s inside of Derek, and if the way that Derek has dropped to his elbows, trying to gain friction by rutting against the sheets is anything to go by, then maybe Derek won’t either.

 

Stiles withdraws his fingers from Derek’s entrance, making Derek whimper, and _oh god_ are _those_ the sounds that ridiculously turn him on also. Really though, anything Derek does turns him on. Inconvenient half-hards are really a problem when there are other werewolves in the room.

 

Stiles spreads lube around Derek’s ass again before nudging on Derek’s waist, silently asking him to lie on his back. He squeezes the base of his cock to help guide himself in, and o _h god_ \- when the head of it is finally inside of Derek, Derek groans, animalistic and deep enough to send shivers down Stiles’ spine. He slowly continues to push into slick warmth, but the way Derek is contracting around him trying to adjust to Stiles’ cock makes him glad he’s still squeezing or he would’ve come by now.

 

As he bottoms out, Derek pulls him into a kiss. Not fast and hurried like other times during the past month but slow, and deep and passionate. Cheesy as it may be, but full of love.

 

“Stiles, your dick is amazing,” Derek groans.

 

And not even that can deter the feeling of connection between them. Stiles grins widely, pulling out and thrusting in a few times so that Derek is squirming around on the bed.

 

“I know-” he’s cut off with another kiss, this time, Derek’s tongue pushes into his mouth, licking around his gums.

 

“You can move faster now,” Derek moans.

 

So Stiles does, withdrawing almost all the way out before pushing back in all the way. The feeling of his orgasm starts to build, intensifies with every thrust. He goes to stroke Derek’s cock in time with every glide in. Derek’s breathing starts to pick up when Stiles purposely presses up towards Derek’s stomach with every drive forward, hitting Derek’s prostate again and again, exhaling Stiles’ name like it’s the only word he knows.

 

“Stiles, I’m nearly there,” Derek grunts out.

 

Stiles goes down to bite at the muscle of Derek’s neck and with a few more strokes, Derek comes messily everywhere. The tightness of Derek clenching around him is what sets Stiles off, coming himself seconds afterwards. They lay there in the bed, puffing and out of breath. Derek kisses him again with already full red lips. He goes to withdraw his cock from inside Derek, but gets stopped.

 

“I want to smell like you so everyone knows you’re mine and I’m yours,” Derek says, rubbing his nose along the edge of Stiles’ jaw, scenting him.

 

Stiles nods. Scott be damned. Derek flips them over so Stiles is underneath. Derek’s come between them is getting uncomfortable but before reaching out for cloth on the bedside table, he picks up Derek’s load between his fingers and smears it on the outside of his cheeks before sucking the excess off into his mouth.

 

“I want to smell like you too,” Stiles replies.

 

Derek’s pupils are fully blown, Stiles just smirks.

 

“I love you, baby,” Derek whispers.

 

“I know.”

 

The amount of time it takes for Derek’s facial expression to change is almost _hilarious_ , suddenly realising what Stiles just did.

 

“Again Stiles, really? First at our proposal and now as well?”

 

Stiles slaps Derek up the shoulder with a chuckle.

 

“I’m _kidding_ , I joke. Derek Hale, I love you too,” Stiles finishes pressing one gentle but tender kiss on the lips of his future husband.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! [Tumblr](http://toosterek.tumblr.com)


End file.
